"Looks pleasant, I don't think," Idaho Bart said bitterly as he watched Phil's keen, dark eyes glancing over the drowsy, deserted streets, splashed golden by the afternoon sun. "Two weeks ago yeh would have opined that yeh were back in New York. Busy? I guess we had got the Fountain of Youth faded to a Harlem ash can, when it came to hustling."
"And now the river's gone," the boy rejoined quietly. His remarks were all couched to extract information without giving any in return.
"Say, that's a right hook on the jaw of truth! It's a lead-pipe cinch that this is about the most mysterious thing that ever gave a whole layout brain storm. The river stopped in the night, and we woke up to find this here dribble. The men are going to pike out, if there don't come a change 'fore Saturday."
Phil muttered something to himself.
"Why don't you find out what has dammed the source of the river?" he asked a moment later.
"Say, yeh are a young green-growing thing, all ready canned and labeled!" Bart sniggered. "Do you know that the source of Silver River is up in Black Cañon?"
"What of that?" queried Phil ingenuously.
"Oh, come off! This ain't the season for spring chickens, I reckon. I only know of three men what have been into Black Cañon, and come out alive. Two o' them were engineers belonging to the United States Reclamation Service, and they had the time of their lives. The other was a Indian, and went in to escape the posse that was trailing him for hoss stealing. He said afterwards that he wished he'd stopped and been lynched."
Phil made no reply to these revelations, for they were now in the main thoroughfare of Silver Bridge, and the ore-stained men were lounging up with a tumultuous outcry for the mail. They also bestowed upon the boy the benefit of their rather doubtful wit, but, finding that they got rather better than they sent, soon betook themselves back to the enticements of the saloons, leaving Idaho Bart to take the few official letters up to the office.
"Say, kid, where are yeh going?" he drawled as he strode away with the loping movement peculiar to the riders of the plains.